


The Spinner in Chains

by Mrs_Stiltskin (Lady_Belles_Teacup)



Series: Changing the Stars [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anal Training, BDSM, Cock & Ball Torture, Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Genital Piercing, Heavy BDSM, Humiliation, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Torture, Pegging, Plugs, Restraints, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2018, Sounding, Throat training, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 14:05:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17122775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Belles_Teacup/pseuds/Mrs_Stiltskin
Summary: When poor spinner, Rumplestiltskin, is tricked by a ghost from the past into attempting to steal the Dark One’s dagger in order to save his son, he soon finds he will have to make a deal with the Devil herself to save his boy. Rumplestiltskin soon realizes things about himself that he never would have guessed to be true in a million lifetimes. Rumbelle Secret Santa 2018 gift for @Perpetualgiver. Prompt: Dark Belle, Prisoner, Sexual torture





	The Spinner in Chains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katillac25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katillac25/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Overleveraged](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14218035) by [Mrs_Stiltskin (Lady_Belles_Teacup)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Belles_Teacup/pseuds/Mrs_Stiltskin). 



> A/N: Rumbelle Secret Santa gift for @Perpetualgiver. Wow. This one is as much of a gift to myself as it is to my Giftee. I have been wanting to write more BDSM Rumbelle for quite a while, but kept getting caught up in other projects. I didn’t nearly have enough time to finish the story, or explore all the delicious scenes these two could share. So, I plan to turn this into a series that takes us from this fic to my other Dom!Belle & Sub!Rumple fic, Overleveraged. I even have a plan for how to get there! So look forward to more of this verse if you enjoy. I know it’s not for everyone, but this is for my Santee, and I know for me, personally, there can never be enough BDSM Rumbelle in any flavor.
> 
> Prompt: Dark Belle, Prisoner, Sexual torture   
> Sideblog if you want to see inspirational images: @perpetualgiver-santasblog

The Dark One watched from the mullioned window of the highest turret of the Dark Castle. A wintry breeze swept through the room, teasing her copper curls, whipping them about her face and biting sharply at her golden scaled cheeks. Electric eyes of cornflower blue, kohl-rimmed, with overlarge irises that swirled and changed with her volatile moods and vertical pupils of inky black widened and narrowed like the eyes of a cat. Like the eyes of a dragon. An apex predator, focusing with pinpoint accuracy on a copse of trees yet miles away, down the green valleys and razorlike ridges that fell away from her mountaintop domain.

No mortal eyes could have seen the creeping form that dared approach her stronghold, bent over a rough-hewn staff, and shuffling with the crooked gait of a lame peasant. Weak but somehow determined. He slipped through the shadows of the forest, daring the sheer cliffs and precipitous drops that protected her castle. He was coming for her. Desperation rolled off him in waves, waves of fear and grim despair that rippled out to touch her mind like a caress. But he was coming for her. That much was certain.

The Dark One was patient and curious. Did this interloper think to overcome her in her own fortress by brute force or by some hidden weapon? To win the symbol of her power and control her? Or did he seek to sneak in by the back door, to steal by stealth that cursed dagger and worm his way into her bedchamber, to kill her at unawares and usurp the power for his own? She needed to ascertain his purpose in braving the Beast in her lair. The Dark One would watch and wait.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin made his way forward, one excruciating step at a time. One foot in front of the other, his staff held firmly in a white-knuckled grip, his wide mouth set in a grim line. Do not look up. Do not look to the side. Do not think about the pain. Do not think about the destination. Think only about the reason for the journey. Think only of Bae.

The castle appeared derelict. The outer wall was crumbled in places, boulders and stones lying in and along the overgrown path. The iron web of the portcullis had been wrenched from its slot and lay crumpled and twisted below. The cobbles leading to the front door were broken and jagged, tossed about carelessly like an overgrown child’s toys. Shingles that once covered the roofs of the uppermost turrets lay scattered about the courtyard amid other debris and detritus that spilled from the castle. The massive front doors stood open, hanging from broken and wrenched hinges, the wood splintered and split, the iron bindings bent.

The dark Sorceress of legend appeared to have vacated or been driven from the premises quite some time ago, and the place ransacked by Giants or Ogres by the look of things. Rumplestiltskin sagged in defeat. His thin, pitiful hopes were dashed on the broken cobbles, there would be no help from this quarter. The beggar had been mistaken, and Bae would be lost after all. He let out a dry sob, he had wasted an entire precious day of the pitiful few that remained before his son would be taken by the Duke’s men. Taken to the front lines of battle to fight and die. Nothing but fodder for the vast, cruel machine of war. He turned sad, dark eyes to the red haze that hung heavy in the West, the blood of their people, the blood of their children, spent in useless fighting, trampled into the dust of the battlefield. Not even stemming the rising tide as the Ogres pushed further and further into the Frontlands, leaving nothing but utter destruction in their wake.

He was exhausted and nearly dead of hunger. As much as he wanted to turn back straight away and head for home, to spend all the time he had left with his beloved son, Rumplestiltskin knew he would never make it without a morsel of food or an hour’s rest at the very least. Perhaps he could forage some berries or roots to carry him onward, one limping step at a time, if he just took a moment to rest. Inside would be safer than outside if there were wild animals or ogres about. He made a hesitant, shuffling step forward into the cool darkness of what was once a grand foyer. Furniture and trophies lay scattered about. Tossed like a careless child’s toys. A massive wooden table, broken to splinters blocked the way, and he used his walking stick to pick his path gingerly amongst the debris. 

The door to the great hall stood open on the other side of the wrecked table, the shards of a mirror spread out from beneath a heavy tapestry. It was difficult to see in the gloom, but what looked like a massive brown bear, stuffed and mounted, lay staring up at him with baleful, glass eyes. Rumplestiltskin limped forward, finding the way opening easily to one side, and his curiosity and desperation pushed him on. Maybe there was still some magic here. Something that could help.

The beggar had mentioned a knife. A dagger engraved with the true name of the Dark One that could be used to summon and control the legendary Dark Sorceress. Rumplestiltskin had banked all his hopes on finding this blade. There were empty plinths, their contents long looted, and a great cabinet, smashed glass doors hanging open, the shelves bare of anything of significance. Shredded tapestries hung in tatters, as ragged as his own clothing, though more finely made, their colors long faded. He wondered where the beggar had gotten his information. This ransacking seemed to have happened a long time ago.

Stairs descended to a long-dark kitchen, the fire cold and the larder empty of even so much as a single crumb. Rumplestiltskin sank down onto a rickety chair, pillowing his head in his arms on the long wooden table. He wondered for a moment, as he slipped into uneasy slumber, why in all this abandoned ruin was there not a speck of dust?

* * *

“Looking for this?” A lush female voice, strangely accented, brought him to uneasy consciousness. A slim kris blade, about a foot long, wavered before his eyes, brandished by a pale, golden arm and a delicate hand whose slender fingers terminated in long, blue-black talons flecked with gold. He couldn’t quite focus on it, his mind trying desperately to make sense of his unfamiliar position.

Rumplestiltskin’s shoulders ached. There was a studded metal collar around his neck, needle-like spikes around the inside, biting into the soft skin of his throat. His stubbled chin rested painfully on a forked metal bar, attached to the collar, whose wicked points stretched his neck from beneath his chin to his bare chest, forcibly keeping his head from drooping forward. His threadbare leggings hung loosely from his slender hips, but he was naked and exposed above the waist. His arms were stretched awkwardly above his head, wrists immovable, firmly clamped in irons. His skin had rubbed raw from chafing against the bare metal. There was a burning in his thighs and along his sides, his feet barely touching the floor, ankles held shoulder width apart by manacles attached to a strong, thin bar of iron. Ungentle fingers twisted harshly in his lank hair, forcing his head back. He didn’t dare to meet the malevolent gaze of their owner.

He was going to die. 

He couldn’t breathe. Fingers of icy terror squeezed his thin chest like a vise, his life’s blood thundering in his ears. His pulse racing like a rabbit flushed from the dark safety of the underbrush into stark daylight, the teeth of the hungry fox already closing about his throat. Bae would be an orphan in his last days before the Duke’s men came to claim him for the front lines in the Ogre’s War. He wanted to sob, his throat closing up and the weight of his predicament threatening to pulverize him into dust. His son had been left safely with a neighbor and the promise that his Papa would be back before the dawn. The lie was bitter on his tongue. His beloved son would wake abandoned, never knowing what terrible price his Papa had paid to try and save him.

The Dark One held the dagger in her fist, scraping the cold metal against his cheek with one hand, the other clenched in his hair, jerking hard. She forced him down upon the keen points of the heretic’s fork, giving him no option but to look upon that which would undoubtedly be the instrument of his death. The wavy blade was shining silver, engraved with intricate patterns of filigree rendered in solid, black enamel. A bright, sparkling, pigeon's blood ruby the size of a walnut glimmered in the pommel, her golden scaled hand gripping the thick hilt and guard of blackened bone. When he was finally able to focus, Rumplestiltskin could discern that a name also was etched upon the blade in that same dull black, the ornate letters seeming to twist away from his eyes. Trying to hide the true name of their master. Belle. The demon sorceress yanked him around, his head snapping back, pain shooting through his scalp. He sucked in a ragged breath, panic rising like an inexorable tide in his chest and threatening to drown him.

“I asked you if this is what you were looking for?” Her voice barely above a whisper, but full of menace, ghosting in his ear. “I expect answers to my questions, prisoner. Truthful answers, or there will be swift, very uncomfortable consequences.” The Dark One shoved his head forward sharply, driving his chin into the cruel points of the fork, his teeth knocking together with a hard snap, and stepped away. She had inhuman strength, that much he knew. The rustle of stiffened fabrics and the tap of hard boots on the cold stone floor echoed loud and harsh in his ears, but the light from the torches was dim, and he could not divine her purpose. He whimpered. Would she slit his throat? Flay him alive? Leave him hanging until he wasted away?

“Did you come for my dagger?” She hissed, inches from his ear.

He shook his head. Barely a whisper escaping his dry, cracked lips, his voice a thin croak. “No.”

The whistle and crack of a bullwhip rent the air, laying open three slender stripes of scarlet agony across his smooth, tender flesh. Rumplestiltskin’s body arched away from the blow, but the manacles around his wrists and ankles kept him from escaping. He sucked in a rasping breath as blood welled in crimson droplets along the bright wheals that rose instantly across his back. He bit down on his own lips, muffling the cry that wanted to burst from his chest, dragged from him with the vicious tips of his jailer’s lash.

“Did you come for my dagger?” She asked again in a soft and ominous sing-song. 

He nodded as best he could, his neck straining, misery etched in the careworn lines of his face.

Another sizzling crack of the whip blazed three more strokes lower down, purplish welts forming along his waist, wrapping around to score deeply into the sensitive flesh at his sides. He twisted and moaned, attempting to move away from the source of the agony, pulling at his bonds, and praying silently to the gods for mercy.

“Who are you?” The Dark One demanded. She stalked behind him, his body trembling, his mind registering the sound a moment before the merciless bite of the bullwhip struck again. Angry red stria of fire searing themselves into skin, muscle, and sinew. Cutting through layers of flesh, they branded themselves into his mind, into his very soul. Through the haze of torment, Rumplestiltskin refused to cry out, to scream, or beg for mercy. He only sucked in ragged breaths through clenched teeth, each stroke blinding him in flashes and sparks of intense white light.

“No one. No one,” he sobbed, breathless. The words were barely spoken, weak behind a determined grimace. His shoulders shook. “I’m only a poor spinner. The village coward!” 

“Who told you to seek my power?” She demanded.

He shook his head. He would not betray another to the horror of this monster.

Another set of stripes was laid down to crisscross the first, and a moan of pure anguish escaped his lips.

“A beggar. Only a beggar we met on the road!” He stammered the words in a rush to spill themselves from his mouth. To stave off the next blow. “He knew of tales long forgotten, and he whispered them in the dark.”

“This beggar had a name?”

He pressed his lips together. His mind focused on the rivulets of blood as they slowly trickled down his back, an irritation like the drip-drip of water in the middle of the night or an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Whistle.

Crack.

His shaken sobs were torn from an unwilling throat. He was trembling from head to toe, his body torn and bleeding, the need to scream building in him like steam in a kettle.

“Zoso. His name was Zoso.” Rumplestiltskin managed, his voice high and strained.

“Zoso?” Her laughter rang out like a bell. A musical, tinkling laugh. Wholly out of place in the dank and cold. “You were tricked, Spinner. By the ghost of my predecessor. He certainly knows how to exploit a desperate soul.” She traced the butt of the whip along the lines of fire and agony she’d scored into his meager flesh. The Dark One stepped around until he could see she wore a glittering robe of spun gold, the neckline a deep vee, plunging from collarbone to navel. The glistening valley between her small breasts exposed, as were the flat, taut planes of her belly. Looming fear in the pit of his stomach kept him from sliding his eyes upward to gaze upon her face. He knew she would be beautiful. As beautiful and terrible as any queen of the realms. She tilted her head, studying him, her movements quick and fluid. Birdlike.

“A coward you claim to be, and yet you sought to best the Beast in her Lair? Daring the mountain passes and sheer, precipitous cliffs. Pushing through suffering and terror. You? A poor, lame, worthless spinner, seeking to learn the monster’s weaknesses? To lay hands on my dagger in order to kill me and usurp my power? Yet you haven’t let out more than a whimper while I have flayed open the very skin upon your scrawny bones. Those are not the actions of a coward, Spinner.”

He trembled, awaiting her judgment. Awaiting death.

“Tell me your name.” She purred.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

“And why were you desperate enough to embark upon this fool’s errand, Rumplestiltskin?”

He shook his head. He could not...

The Dark One tutted her disapproval before laying the lash across his slatted ribs and tender belly once again. He thrashed back, hissing, as the pronged tip of one strand snapped against his nipple. Searing fire raced from torn nipple to groin, his body reacting to the torment in a most unexpected and unwelcome way. He prayed to all the gods she wouldn’t see. The need to scream nearly boiled over, but he gritted his teeth and swallowed it down, adding it to the fire that was building in him.

“I could kill you with a thought, Rumplestiltskin.” Her smile was venom. Her beauty torment.

“My son.” He finally broke in great, wracking sobs, the threat of being taken from his child too terrifying to contemplate. “Please don’t kill me. I only came here because I thought I could save my son. My only child. The Duke’s soldiers will come to get him in mere days. To fight and die, a sandbag against the tide in this useless, bloody war.” Hot tears spilled over, leaving salty trails on his dirt-smudged cheeks.

“The Second Ogre’s War,” Belle agreed. “I took this Dark Curse to save my own family from the First Ogres War over two hundred years ago.” She smiled a predatory smile, lifting his chin away from the fork with the point of her dagger pressed beneath. He swallowed hard and felt the trickle of blood slide down his throat. “I took it from your friend, Zoso. I believe he told you how.”

“Please. He was no friend to me,” Rumplestiltskin cajoled, his voice a thin wheedle, finally lifting beseeching eyes to beg her mercy upon his wretched soul. Her dark beauty stirred him, the absolute loveliness of her face and form striking him in the chest like a body blow. Her eyes so deeply azure it hurt to look upon them. “He lied to me. He tricked me into coming here. For what? For why? He told me if I controlled the dagger, I could save my son from his fate, but if you kill me, there is no one to save my boy. He’s only thirteen, there’s only the two of us. Please, I don’t want him to die.” He could hear the panic rising shrill in his own voice, powerless to stop it.

“What of your wife? Surely she can care for the boy until he’s called to war,” The Dark One gave him a mocking smile.

“She left us. Years ago.” he sobbed. “I am nothing. Lame. Friendless. Branded a coward. Poorer than dirt. But my son… my son is everything. A brave, strong boy.” Tears rolled down his cheeks, his body wracked and broken. “Please don’t kill me. Don’t leave him fatherless. Help us. Please,” he begged, overcome. Desperate. “I’ll do anything to save him from that terrible fate. Anything.”

The Dark One considered her prisoner, circling him like a carrion bird, her strange gaze raking over him. He burned with shame. Her eyes sparked, red lips curling into a mischievous smile as she took in his state of obvious arousal.

“I should kill you. With the barest thought, I could crush your heart to dust and let your boy be dragged off to war, and your sad tale will have ended as tragically as it began. Not even a smudge on the scrolls of history.”

He nodded miserably. “Please…”

“But I am intrigued by you, Spinner.” Her wintry blue eyes glittered, her coppery curls bouncing around her shoulders. Her beauty was overwhelming and dangerous. “Know this, Rumplestiltskin. For your treachery, you deserve death, but I’m curious, and the smell of your fear intoxicates me. I’m inclined to spare your worthless life, and as such, you are mine to do with as I please.”

He whimpered, his heart pounding in his throat.

“I am not a cruel woman, at heart,” The Dark One whispered, her voice a caress. “In fact, many called me kind-hearted in my mortal life.” She scraped her fingernails down the side of his face, one black talon slicing a razor-thin line down his throat, over his collarbones, to circle his torn, bleeding nipple. “But the Dark One has certain appetites.” She gave him a glittering smile. Feral. Predatory. “Appetites that have not been indulged in so, so long. Do you understand?”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard. His chest squeezing tight around his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. Did she mean?

She delicately held his nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently for a second before pinching hard. He sucked in a breath and held it, his eyes locked with those of the Dark One, drawn into the strange, swirling patterns within. Entire galaxies were contained within her irises. She twisted, firmly, slowly, until he threw his head back, drawing in a ragged gasp, the sensation shooting straight to his groin. He tried desperately to block out the least shred of pleasure, lest she see, but he could no more hide from her than he could be a hero.

“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer with a “Yes, Mistress or No, Mistress.” The Dark One put her lips to his ear, her cool breath drawing out a shiver as he hung there, stretched and aching, his wounds open and raw and burning every nerve. His tiny brown bud twisted and stretched in her grip. Breath whistled through his nose in a thin whine, his lips pressed tightly together. “Your son will live. I will keep him safe from the Duke’s men. And you will live. But in exchange, every bit of you is mine to use as I see fit. If you refuse me, I will still let you live, but I will not lift a finger to help, and your dear boy will surely die on the field of battle. Do you understand?” She twisted harder, and his whining moan increased in pitch.

“Yes, Mistress,” he managed, biting off the words. He had no choice. He would do anything for his boy, even endure the depraved whims of this dark sorceress. He focused on the exhilarating rush that originated where her fingertips tortured his sensitive flesh and the path it was taking through his body.

“That’s my good boy,” she crooned, releasing his nipple and passing gentle hands over his lashed and striped torso. The warm glow of magic spread out from her fingers, knitting together separated skin and the muscle beneath, healing the wounds she had inflicted. “Just think, I could bring you to the brink of death and then heal you a thousand times until your soul is crushed and your mind breaks from it.” She ran her hand over the rigid line of his cock, hard beneath the thin homespun of his leggings, smiling at his involuntary gasp. “But, if you continue to be a good little pet, we could both enjoy what’s to come, don’t you think?”

She gave him a firm squeeze before reaching up to brush back the long hair that hung about his face. “You’re really very lovely, pet. Such soulful eyes. Bottomless, limpid pools that betray a life of hardship and suffering.” She ran a finger down his cheek. “A beautiful, expressive mouth. Soft, full lips that quiver delightfully when you’re overwrought. Exquisite. Did you have any idea you would react so beautifully to my chastisement of your mortal flesh?”

He shook his head, shame burning across his cheeks. “No, Mistress.”

The sorceress grinned, her eyebrows lifting playfully. “Neither did I, but it’s simply delicious, and I can’t wait to see how far we can push you, Rumplestiltskin.”

She cupped his chin and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. He felt the whispering swirl of magic around them, and when she released him, he was free of the manacles. His entire body went limp, slumping to the floor in utter exhaustion. She was gone, leaving him alone in the dank, silent dungeon, surrounded by the gleaming implements of torture she would no doubt be using on him at her pleasure. He lifted his fingers to touch the slim metal collar still circled around his throat, fitting him perfectly. The cruel fork that had stretched his neck and forced his head back was gone, but the seamless band remained, a solid ring affixed to the front had a chain of heavy gold links that terminated in a leather strap. He was collared and leashed like a noblewoman’s pet dog.

But, there was also a hearty meal of hot stew and cool, crisp wine, bread, soft, fragrant cheese, and fresh, exotic fruit. It was more and better food than he’d ever seen in his entire life. The fact that it was served in golden bowls upon the cold, wet stone floor of his Mistress’ Dungeon made him tremble. He was the Dark One’s pet now. Her slave for as long as she wanted him, and then… what? If he resisted, she would let his son die, and everything he’d risked his life for would be in vain. He could endure any pain, any humiliation, for the life of his son. His dear Baelfire. He knelt upon the rugged flagstones, his knees protected only by the thin linen of his leggings, the last shreds of his modesty, and ate his dinner from the golden dishes of his Mistress like the animal he was.

Her tinkling laughter floated down from above, and he knew she was watching him and taking pleasure in his abject humiliation.

When he was finished, Rumplestiltskin stretched out on the meager straw pallet in the corner, drawing up the thin blankets and trying in vain to hold in as much warmth as possible against the damp, moss-covered stones, cold and hard against his back. The looming shapes of heavy wooden tables and the vast array of nasty looking torture devices situated around the room made the blood pound in his ears as he lay in darkness, sweat beading on his forehead in spite of the chill that settled in his bones.

In her kindness, his Mistress had thought to supply a small pillow for his comfort. He tucked it beneath his head, staring out at the few stars he could see through the high, thin, horizontal slits that served as windows in the mostly subterranean dungeon. He hoped against hope that Bae was safe with one of the neighboring villagers and that he didn’t think his Papa had merely abandoned him. Sheer exhaustion from the trauma of the past day finally overcame him, and he fell into a fitful but dreamless sleep.

He awoke the next morning staring at black, thigh-high boots of textured leather, intricately laced. The slender, high heels made of what looked for all the world to be human finger bones dipped in silver. Silver buckles adorned with grinning human skulls ran up the sides. Rumplestiltskin shuddered. He could not afford to forget whom it was he dealt with. His eyes roamed higher, and all rational thought fled despite the strength of his resolve.

The Dark One was naked, save for the boots and a leather harness that covered, in all practicality, nothing. Straps studded with wicked looking spikes encircled her slender form, crisscrossing so that they lifted and separated her small, pert breasts, and running down between her thighs, leaving her sex exposed. Her skin glistened, covered in tiny, glimmering, golden scales that glinted in the wan morning light. The scales thinned out as they approached the soft, smooth cleft at the apex of her thighs. Her labia was a shimmering rose gold that looked as silky-soft as rose petals and made his mouth water. Her clit was pierced with a thin ring of platinum and adorned with a single, large, glittering diamond. Rings of silvery platinum pierced her nipples as well, hung with swags of delicate chains that danced and swung even as she breathed and moved.

His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his body reacting despite his resolve. He’d never encountered a woman of such terrible and striking beauty, and she was about to use him in ways he couldn’t begin to imagine. His long-gone wife had been by no means ugly, but the acrimony of their unhappy marriage soured his memories, and he could no longer remember a time when beauty and sex were in any way a part of his life. The Dark One’s copper curls were swept up, leaving her long, elegant throat exposed, as was her heart-shaped face. Her intense, azure gaze swept over him.

“Enjoy your look, slave?” She pouted, her plump, glossy lips the same dusky rose gold as her nipples and the petals of her sex. He shivered. “I do hope so because from here on I expect you to avert your eyes. I require your utter subservience, your immediate and unquestioning obedience to my every whim. It’s time to get up. Go and wash, and do be thorough. I expect you back at my feet, naked and kneeling, eyes respectfully downcast in precisely ten minutes.” The Dark One bent down to run her fingers through his hair gently, the chains that hung from her dusky nipples brushing his chest, a nasty smile curving the bow of her dusty-pink lips. She wrapped her fingers around the chain that hung from his collar and gave a yank. “We have a little work to do before breakfast, my sweet spinner. Throat training goes so much easier on an empty stomach.”

Rumplestiltskin had no idea what she meant, but a ripple of fear ran through him as he hastened to obey. He found the privy, a steaming copper tub of water awaiting him. He performed his morning ablutions in haste but lingered as long as possible in more hot water than he’d ever seen in one place. He washed with a sharp, mint and rosemary scented soap and rubbed himself with an array of sweet-smelling oils that had been provided. He scrubbed his teeth and nails with the salt, soot and sage mixture that had been left for the purpose and combed his long, honey-brown hair until it shone in the flickering torchlight. When he emerged, the Dark One sat upon a wicked throne, her hawkish gaze following his every movement, as though he were a tiny, helpless mouse in a field of green, summer grass.

He knelt in the center of the room, his eyes downcast, hands folded upon on his knees, and waited.

* * *

The Dark One perched upon an ornate chair of carved ebony. A throne. The carvings depicting men and women in all manner and forms of copulation, and in every combination and number of partners, each figure connected to the next by the basest carnal acts. Her keen eyes tracked her new plaything for long minutes as he moved across the room, folding in on himself as he sank to his knees. She ran her fingertips over a trio of women joined together mouth to cunt, a human triskelion. Belle’s new toy was thin to gauntness, his slatted ribs prominent, his belly hollowed, but with wiry muscles that rippled and slid beneath smooth, tanned skin. His features were not uncomely, his skin lined with care and weathered, but supple from decades of contact with lanolin in the sheep’s wool he spun. His eyes were deeply set, warm brown and flecked with gold and green, dark and rich, yet full of the weariness of the life he led. His cheekbones high and angular, his mouth was wide, his bottom lip full and soft. He sat very still, trying not to fidget upon his knees, but fear and anticipation hung on him like a heavy cloak, wrapping itself around him and tickling her nose with its scent. Her spinner trembled, and she could hear the thoughts flying about in his head.

Belle rose, her chains whispering gently against her belly, and stood before him, enjoying the lines of his slender, elegant neck, admiring the way his hair hung softly about his lean face. She slid her fingers through it, scratching gently at his scalp. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Her belly clenched with desire, yes he was beautiful, and she couldn’t wait to test his limits, to hear his moans and watch him writhe for her. To pierce him and lace him up in costly chains of platinum to match his Mistress.

“My son?” Rumplestiltskin whispered, daring to address her and startling her from her reverie. Her fingers tightened in his hair, yanking his head back with brutal force. He tried to look away, his rich amber eyes filling with tears, but she gripped him in her golden fist.

“You do not speak unless you are asked a question, worm. Punishment for disobedience will be swift and severe. Do you understand?” She growled, shaking him by the hair, the chain hanging from his collar clinking dully.

“Yes, Mistress.”

The Dark One flicked her wrist, gesturing to her front. A shimmering cloud of oily, purple smoke cleared to reveal a long, thick cock of some smooth and supple material that hung from the harness above her cunt. She pressed it to his cheek, and his eyes flew wide, his body tensing beneath her hands.

“Have you ever sucked a cock, Spinner?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Don’t lie to me. You never sold your mouth for coin? To feed your boy? In the darkest hours of your desperation?” She watched the color rise in his cheeks and knew the truth of it. “All alone, your wife run off. Behind a dark tavern, in the depths of night…” She ran the tip of the cock against his lips, enjoying the contrast of the golden color against his tanned skin. Her belly clenching in anticipation of watching it slide in and out of his generous mouth. “Open up, slave. I want to see how much you can take.”

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes and opened his mouth, sucking in the tip of the long, golden cock. Belle kept her fingers tight at the back of his head and pressed forward until he had taken about half of it into his mouth, before beginning to thrust slowly. “Suck me like it’s the real thing, Spinner. I want to watch you. I want to see you take it all.”

He let her cock slip from between his lips, breathless. “Yes, Mistress,” he gasped, bending down to stretch his lips over the blunt head. Belle felt the Dark One rise up within her as she gripped him by the hair, thrusting roughly, her hips snapping forward, the head bumping up against the back of his throat. He gagged a bit, choking and coughing as she pulled him off, watching his thin chest heave and his dark eyes stream.

“Oh, yes, take it, my pet. Open your throat, relax, and let me in,” she purred, sliding his mouth up and down her shaft, the head just breaching his throat. “It feels so good, doesn’t it? It feels so good to have the head of my cock in your gullet.”

She thrust again, and he felt his throat bulge out, the head sliding further in. It hurt, his throat wanting to close up around it, each penetration sending jolts of pain and fear to his brain, his lungs fighting his panicked mind for oxygen. Rumplestiltskin’s eyes stung with tears, his body’s natural reaction to the forceful invasion, and he struggled to let it happen. To please his Mistress. He tried to accommodate her, forcing his throat to relax and letting the head slide deep, breathing through his nose, allowing her to thrust again and again. Saliva dripped down his chin, his mouth and throat used like a common whore.

Belle could sense his fear, practically hearing his panicked thoughts as she thrust faster and harder and deeper. Each vicious thrust sending the head further down his throat until she held him there, his lips stretched around the base, his nose squashed into her belly. His head tried to jerk back, struggling to relax at once, his throat contracting around the long, thick cock lodged mercilessly in his throat, but she held him by the hair until his struggles ceased, his eyes wide and panicky.

She scratched her nails up the sides of his neck, bulging out from the cock buried there. Belle withdrew, listening to him gasp and heave, saliva stretching in silvery strands to the head. She gave him several gulping breaths before plunging in again. This time there was less resistance, and she felt his throat open up to accommodate. She withdrew immediately, letting him gulp in air before thrusting deep again. Ten good, deep, plunging thrusts that bowed out his throat, her fingers in his hair holding his head fast. He had gone still, allowing the invasion, his eyes closed.

“Look at me while I use your mouth, slut,” she commanded, and his eyes snapped open, something sparking deep inside, gazing into them as she gave him another sharp, snapping thrust and held him there, imaging herself spurting hot come directly into his throat. Grinding her pelvis into his face, as though she were pumping hot seed across the back of his tongue and letting it flow into his belly.

“That’s my good boy. That’s my pet,” she murmured, petting his hair gently through the final deep thrusts. The Dark One felt her own cunt spasm as she watched the thick golden shaft slide from between his lips, the head popping obscenely from between his swollen lips. She reached down to gather his leash into her hands, and a fresh smile curved her lips. Rumplestiltskin’s cock was thick and hard, leaking a thin trail of clear fluid as it bobbed against his hollow belly. Belle shuddered, her own nipples hardening in response. She lifted his chin and made a show of checking the seamless golden collar that encircled his used throat, “I enjoyed that, too, my sweet.”

Rumplestiltskin whimpered, tears still streaming from the brutal throat fucking. His chest was still heaving as he struggled to suck air into his sore throat.  He closed his eyes against her knowing stare, his cheeks reddening. Her nails tightened against his chin and cheeks. “Know this, slave. Your body buys your son’s life. Look!”

Images swam before his eyes. Baelfire, sitting by a roaring fireplace, a large bowl of rich stew sitting in front of him while he drank a cup of sheep’s milk. His son running through a field, calling in the sheep and goats with a group of younger children. His son sitting by candlelight in a small, cozy room, drawing his Papa’s face with a slender stick of charcoal on a piece of delicate parchment, tracing the lines of his father’s face lovingly from memory: wide mouth turned to a gentle smile, the long sweeps of his hair, his hands clutched around a walking stick. Baelfire was safe and warm and healthy, and yet thinking of him. He wept. His breath coming in wracking sobs. Belle tilted her head, watching him, studying him, he shrank from her gaze.

“Your boy is safe. I never break a deal.”

“I had no choice!” Rumplestiltskin croaked, the tears of pain and humiliation turning to a strange mixture of joy and sorrow. “And yet I thank you for saving him, Mistress. My life and my body are indeed yours in payment.”

“Yes. Yes, they are,” She sang to him, smiling wickedly, her sharp canines glinting, “and I intend to make the most of it before I decide what to do with you. The scent of your fear has become no less delicious overnight. Come, pet, have some water and wine to soothe your battered throat, and then a little breakfast to give you strength for our very busy day.” She yanked on the chain, dragging him to all fours and leading him on hands and knees to the area where his golden dishes sat heaped with sumptuous food and drink.

Belle sat upon her throne, stroking her fingers through her own wet folds as she considered how the Dark One’s voracious appetites might be appeased. She tapped idly on the sparkling jewel at the end of the thick plug she wore between her cheeks as she watched her beautiful Spinner as he delicately ate and drank like a dog on all fours. He really was lovely. His slender form could use a little meat, but he was poor, and she had seen that where he was thin to gauntness, his son when she had turned her attention there, his son was plump and well fed. He had gone without so his dear boy would never know the pain of a belly gnawing with hunger. That stirred something deep within her.

He called himself nothing, a coward, and yet he had shown great reserves of both strength and will, as well as a clever resourcefulness. Belle held a certain respect for him, for his fortitude and determination. For his love of family. She herself had given her all for her family when she had stolen the dagger from the wicked Duke and murdered the enslaved Dark One, Zoso. She smiled to herself as she contemplated him, her fingers tracing patterns on another group of copulating figures. She found him exceptionally beautiful when he was gasping in pain, his features enraptured by it, his impressive cock thick and hard even as he fought against his own body’s betrayal. Much to his own chagrin, he couldn’t help but enjoy being punished, humiliated. Used. Pain sparked his synapses, made his adrenaline flow, and the blood rush straight to his cock, to her darling toy’s obvious discomfiture. Yes, the Dark One rejoiced at the opportunity to turn this gorgeous creature into a begging pain slut.

She rose from her chair, biting her bottom lip and circling the room, deciding upon her next move. The Saint Andrew’s Cross, she thought. Belle checked the restraints, rattling the buckles and straps. He watched her from the corner, cleaning his face after his breakfast. Belle was certain each swallow of food had reminded his tender throat of her brutal use of him. She waved a hand, magic spilling from her fingertips. The purple-black smoke clearing to reveal a rough wooden table covered with dozens of shining implements arranged in neat, orderly rows.

She crooked her taloned finger, beckoning him. “Come, slave. I’m ready to hear you scream for me.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes wide, but he dropped immediately to all fours, crawling across the rough flagstones on his bare, bony knees. When he reached her, his knees and palms bloodied, she grasped the ring of his collar and lifted him to his feet with her incredible strength. He waited, trying not to look at her face with those pleading eyes, so large and brown, his eyebrows turned up, his lower lip trembling.

“Against the cross, my Spinner, face away. I want to play with those sweet, generous cheeks of yours.” She fastened the buckles firmly around his wrists and ankles, double sets that held him tight to the slender cross without putting any weight on his ruined ankle. She could move freely around him on a raised platform, his back and well-formed buttocks fully exposed, on the other side the beams of the cross covered his belly, but his thin chest and delicious cock were within easy reach.

“Let’s get you plugged,” the Dark One murmured, giving him an open-handed slap to one buttock, making it dance merrily. “And then we can make you truly mine.” She snapped her fingers, and a hinged metal bulb the size of her small fist appeared, the handle end long and slender with a crank mechanism attached. She stalked around the low platform that surrounded the cross, bringing her to eye level with him. She turned the crank, watching his eyes widen as he watched the bulb expand and open like a flower.

“Have you ever been fucked in the arse, Spinner?”

“No, Mistress,” he croaked, his voice broken. He shook his head violently, his hair swaying about.

“You sold your mouth to feed your boy, but never that sweet, tight ass of yours?” The Dark One tutted. “So tight and firm, you could have demanded a pretty penny for that cherry hole, Rumplestiltskin. It’s a pity, now it’s mine, and I intend to use it fully. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he breathed, his whole body tensing, muscles jumping.

“Don’t worry,” she smirked, twisting the bulb closed again. “We’re not starting with this.”

The relief in his eyes was as palpable as his shuddering sigh. “Thank you, Mistress.”

She waved her hand again, the sharp tang of ozone familiar in her nose, opening her hand to reveal a slender plug with a flared base the width of three fingers at its widest point, and tapering to a slim rounded tip. Belle stroked his back with a soothing balm, slipping her fingers between his buttocks and stroking lightly against the entrance to his body.

“I’ll be gentle,” she crooned into his ear, slipping the tip of her finger around the tight ring of muscle, massaging it. He writhed against her finger, his buttocks flexing. “Are you ready, pet?”

“Yes, Mistress.” He closed his eyes, his hands flexing into fists above her head.

“Relax, my pet. Relax and let me in.” She stroked him, placing the tip of the plug at his entrance and pushing the tip inside while he held his breath.

Rumplestiltskin gasped, his body trembling. Belle worked the tip in and out, adding more of the soothing oil to keep everything lubricated. He breathed in time with her gentle thrusts, working the plug a little further in with each stroke.

“Soon your body will learn to accept me, Rumplestiltskin. To welcome me as I slide into you with little more than a dab of oil and the music of your moans, and then fuck you until you are unresisting and wrecked, wide open and begging me to let you come.” The Dark One buried her fist in his hair, pulling back his head to gaze into the deep pools of his dark, frightened eyes, his lower lip trembling. “Then I shall withdraw, and leave you wanting. A quivering puddle of emptiness curled up and sobbing on the cold flagstones of my dungeon floor. The marks of your pain seared into your flesh and the intoxicating scent of your desperation strong in my nose.”

He was making little noises of pleasure now, his eyes closed, lips parted, his body betraying him for the sweet, little slut she knew he was. She worked it in deeper, relishing his hoarse cry when the widest part popped inside.

“There we are, pet. It feels good doesn’t it?” She slid it out, watching him stretch around the soft material, still holding him firmly by the hair. Belle worked it in and out until he was accepting it easily, stopping only to switch it for the next size up, and continuing to thrust while he moaned and writhed in his bonds. “Tell me how good that feels, my sweet little slag, tell me.”

“Yes! Mistress. It feels so good when you fill me up. Oh, gods, please.” He was panting, his chest heaving. Belle glanced down to take in his erect cock, bobbing in front of him with every thrust, clear fluid leaking from him. From the sounds he was making, she thought he might be ready to come.

“You may not come unless I give you permission, Spinner.” She gripped his thickness and gave it a hard squeeze, making him cry out. “Not unless I say, or you will be punished, do you understand?”

“I can’t stop it! Oh, gods please, may I come, Mistress?” He begged, his entire body shaking with the effort of holding back.

She settled the plug deep in his ass, giving the end a sharp tap before stepping around the platform to his face him. “No. If you come without permission, I will flog you within an inch of your life, and I promise you will not enjoy it.”

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin grimaced, struggling to hold back while the larger plug rubbed inside him, driving his body mad with the need to ejaculate. His cock was so hard it was torture, his balls aching. The Dark One held up a small silver cage, a few inches long and tubular in shape with a clover-shaped clamp dangling inside. She affixed the clamp inside to one of his nipples, and setting the round open end of the tube against his chest, she began to crank the turnscrew on top. In a moment, it was pulling him outward, stretching his breast within the cage, each turn of the crank tightening the clamp on his sensitive nipple.

At first, the pleasurable sensation went straight to his cock, but as it wrenched tighter, the torment increased until he was whining with every breath. She moved to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. He was sobbing by the time she was finished stretching him, the clamps biting viciously into his tiny nubs, crushing them. The silver cages stood out from his chest, the chain of his collar dangling between them. He could feel the scream building in his chest, just beneath his lungs.

She flicked cages, making him cry out. “That should help,” she declared. Indeed, his mind was no longer focused on his cock. He hung there, panting, his body limp with exhaustion. He watched her move, the slender chains dangling from her pert breasts dancing in the torchlight and the slim bands of daylight that peeked in from the high windows. The smell of magic hung in the air, a sharp ozone smell that intensified every time she used it. He could see her arousal dripping down her thighs as she abused his flesh, and he hoped for a moment, that if she came close enough, he would be able to smell her as well. The thought that she might smell like clover and honey made his cock twitch.

His Mistress grasped his rigid length in her small fist. She smiled her most predatory smile, holding up a slender silver wand before his face. It was smooth, rounded at the tip, and about eight or ten inches long. Rumplestiltskin could not fathom its purpose, and he watched, trembling, as she touched the slightly bulbous tip to the tip of his cock, lining it up with his slit. What was she doing? It felt strange as she slid the slim wand into him, working it in and out. It wasn’t painful, rather it was pleasurable in an odd way. It felt like as much of an invasion as the plug but felt just as wonderful once he grew accustomed to it.

A moment later he threw his head back and howled as unrivaled agony ripped through him. The Dark One sent a jolt of magical energy through the wand, directly into his cock from root to tip. It was like being hit with a hammer to the groin, and he nearly blacked out, his mind protecting itself from the explosion of pain. He dragged in air, his heart pounding like a herd of wild horses, forcing himself to stay alert.

The Dark One bit her bottom lip, savoring his weak groans as she slid the wand deeper until it filled the entire length of his cock. Terror filled his mind, the torment of knowing there was no escape set him quivering. _Nonononononono. Fuck._ With a flash of her eyes and a flick of her fingers, she sent another merciless burst of dark magic down his shaft. He imagined this was what it was like to be flayed alive from the inside out. Certain she was slicing him open from root to tip, he finally screamed. The sound bubbling up from his chest and tearing itself from his throat, a rasping wail of pure anguish while his body jerked and flailed in the bonds, the muscles in his ass contracting around the plug inside him. In moments, he was a writhing mass of pleasure and pain, his cock screaming misery while the pressure to his insides only made him harder, forcing him toward an orgasm that would only cause him more torment.

“Good boy,” his Mistress cooed as she slid the wand out. He was panting, his chest heaving, sweat beading on his lip, and adrenaline humming through his blood. She replaced the smooth wand with a textured spike that she slid down inside him, every bump and ridge making him mewl as it stimulated his cock. “Does my little slave whore like that?”

He could only whimper and nod weakly, but she seemed to take that as a yes and worked the thick silver spike in and out, fucking his cock like she had fucked his ass and mouth, with purposeful, deliberate strokes that turned his legs to jelly. He was grateful for the restraints, without them he would have collapsed into a boneless heap.

“Yes, my pet. Every hole is mine. Every hole belongs to your Mistress. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Mistress, please fuck all of my worthless holes,” he managed, his voice quivering as much as his body.

She grinned, and slipped a thick silver ring around his glans, sliding the ridged plug all the way into his cock and attaching it to the ring. A few pumps of her fist around his shaft brought him to full hardness, the ring squeezing him tight beneath the head of his cock, the feel of the sound so deep inside sending shivers through him.

“Look at you,” she praised, sending quick pulses of magic down his shaft, making him jerk like a marionette on strings. Yes, he was her puppet, her doll. He recognized how badly he needed to be punished for his unworthiness to even exist in her presence. He needed her to do it again. He wanted to see the moisture gather between her dusky pink folds as she used him. He longed to worship her with his mouth, to drink down that sweet nectar and bring her pleasure, but he would never be worthy of such an honor unless she truly cleansed his worthless soul with suffering and torment.

“So beautiful, all covered in my pretty jewels. I like to see you decorated. All tarted up like the slutty pain whore you are, my pretty pet.” Another devastating pulse from the wand was directed against his brutalized nipples, all caged and clamped, and he could feel the muscles and sinews of his neck and back popping as he strained against the manacles. A hoarse sob ripped from his chest was the only sound. She gave the plug in his ass a swift smack, and he nearly came, his body thrumming with need. He panted, close to hyperventilating, trying desperately to focus his mind and keep from coming without permission.

“May I come, Mistress?” He pleaded, sobbing. His voice a shaken whisper. “Please. I need to come!”

He felt an overwhelming need to please her. Rumplestiltskin’s only wish at that moment was to be her good boy, to make her so very happy. His Mistress knew precisely what he needed, what she wanted from him, and he would rather die than disappoint her. The hard, central core of who he was was still Baelfire’s Papa, and that would never change. He wanted his son safe and happy beyond all else in this wretched world. But everything else, he could give to her, this powerful creature who stood before him. Who meted out pain and pleasure as punishment and reward. She would shatter him into a million tiny shards, and he welcomed the thought, he only hoped she would stay to put him back together when she was through. To leave something for his boy.

“You will know when you are worthy to defile my presence with your worthless come,” she admonished him. “But we certainly aren’t there yet, slag. Still so much work to do.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” he breathed, relaxing into the idea that he belonged to the Dark One herself, the beautiful and worshipful Belle, and that she would tell him when he worthy, when he was allowed to come.

She wandered over to the table and perused the gleaming instruments, running her fingers over them lovingly. Their bone handles menacing in the dank light. His Mistress made a low sound of approval as she selected a long, slender needle, testing the point with her fingertip and hissing when it produced a drop of crimson blood. There was a flash of tongue as she licked the blood away, and he swallowed hard, a wave of desire to taste her essence washing over him. Come what may, he was utterly hers. His mind had gone beyond fear, beyond the immediate sensations of pleasure and pain and into that euphoric space where the two were one. His body craved her touch, wanting to sing out as the vicious prick of pain made the pleasure soar.

He watched as his Mistress conjured a thick cushion and a small table covered in needles and rings of various sizes and gauges. She knelt before him, her achingly lovely face eye-level with his cock, and for a moment, he had a vision of her plump, pink lips wrapped around his shaft. She slid her hands up his thighs, her lips quirking into a wicked grin.

“I can hear your thoughts, Spinner,” she smirked. “You wouldn’t dare to think such things about your Mistress, now would you?”

He shook his head, heat rising in his cheeks. “No, Mistress. I exist only for your pleasure, my lady.”

“That’s better,” Belle reached up and gave each nipple clamp another sharp twist, and his eyes rolled back, his cock surging. “Gods but you are such a beautiful little pain slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he breathed, his hips thrusting forward. He let his head fall back as she ran her hands over his stomach, tracing his prominent ribs. He moaned softly.

“So pretty,” she cooed, sliding her hands over the bones of his hips and down to cup his balls, scratching gently with her nails.

“Mistress…”

“Shhh, pet.” She pumped his cock to full hardness, the beaded plug sending out ripples of pleasure from the inside. He was panting for her, watching with wide eyes as she attached the ring around his purple head to the chain that hung from his collar, stretching him slightly, exposing the underside of his cock and the entirety of his sac to her gaze. She licked her lips. The rosy points of her nipples glistened in the low torchlight, the thick rings that passed through them fully visible. His body hummed, blood roaring in his ears.

“It’s time to make you mine, Spinner.” She picked up a thick needle, running it over her tongue. The tip was slanted, and he could see that it was hollow. “Are you ready, slave?”

He held his breath as she pinched the skin at the base of the underside of his cock between thumb and forefinger, punching the needle through and leaving it. He let the breath out, along with a sharp gasp, closing his eyes and allowing the adrenaline to flow through his veins. There was a deep ache where the needle sat piercing through a good inch of flesh at the base of his cock. She ran her finger over the skin that covered the needle, tracing the line of the septum.

“Another?” The Dark One purred, picking up a second needle.

“Yes, Mistress,” he breathed, watching from what seemed to be far above his own body as she pinched the septum and drove the second needle through about an inch below the first. This one was a thicker gauge, and the pain was sharp and unrelenting. His whole body wanted to tense up, to flee from the agony of the needles skewering his testicles. His consciousness hovered far above, looking down, and he forced his body to relax, breathing deeply through his nose, watching almost calmly as she added a third, thicker needle another inch below the second. There was surprisingly little blood, he noted with mild curiosity as a fourth needle was inserted, again an inch below the third.

“How are you doing, my sweet?” Belle inquired, placing her fingertips on either end of the fourth needle and hefting his balls, giving them a little jiggle and then letting them fall back against his thighs.

He moaned. His body was trembling, and he gazed down at her. The burning ache in his balls filled his mind. He moaned again. Everything was hazy, like he was watching the entire scene through an oiled skin.

“One more, I think.” She surveyed her handiwork, selecting the final needle. It was thicker still than the others, and she watched his face carefully as she slowly and deliberately worked the needle through the center line of his sac. He drew a ragged breath, clenching his teeth together to keep from crying out, there was a low whine in his ears, and it took a moment to realize it was, in fact, coming from his own chest as it heaved. Even though the dungeon was cool, beads of sweat trickled down, over his collarbones to trail down his chest.

When he looked down, he could see the needles sticking out on either side, the burning ache settling deep in his balls. Starting at the bottom, Belle slid each needle out one at a time, replacing it with a thick platinum ring with a captive bead encrusted with diamond. The circle of each ring was smaller and thinner than the one before, the final one at the base of his cock a slightly bent bar with a ball of platinum and diamond on each end.

Belle conjured a mirror, holding it up so that he could see her artistry. His belly clenched at the sight. It was beautiful, and tears began to track down his cheeks. He was, indeed, utterly hers now.

“What do you think, pet?” Somewhere inside, she hoped he could appreciate his own beauty. She watched as tears spilled over and made his cheeks shine. “So lovely, don’t you think?” His lower lip quavered, as he sucked in a breath with a gentle sob.

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you!” He breathed, on the verge of sobbing. “Thank you, for making me yours. I want to be yours.”

“Yes, my sweet spinner. You are mine. Even if I send you back to your boy, you will always be mine now.” She sang in his ear, running her fingers over the rings in his balls. Belle sent soft pulses of magic to heal the wounds she had made and ensure they would stay perfect.

She released his cock from the leash, giving it a few pulls to keep it hard, to keep him on edge. “Let’s get you down.” She purred, running her hands all over his body, tweaking the cages that still clamped his nipples, and earning her a deep groan when she gave each one a little pull. “There’s some work I want you to do before I fuck your sweet ass.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Yes, Mistress.”

Rumplestiltskin could barely stand, his thighs trembling, his body weak from hanging for hours. He collapsed to the stones on all fours, and the Dark One took him by his leash, leading him to a low bench. He crawled after her, his cock surging when he saw the twinkle of her jeweled plug between her pert, rosy cheeks. He wanted to take it between his teeth and…

She spun on her heels, a wicked smirk curving her lips. “Yes, indeed,” she cooed. “You will taste my charms, Spinner. Lie back.” She placed her heeled boot in the center of his chest and pressed back until he found the edge of the bench.

He lay back on the narrow bench, and his dark Mistress straddled his head, one booted leg on either side of the bench. She grabbed him by the hair and drew him to where she was hot and wet and smelled exactly like clover and honey. Rumplestiltskin groaned, unable to believe that she would honor his worthless mouth with such a task.

“Can you make me come, slave? No touching…other than your mouth,” she admonished, gripping his hair and grinding herself down on his face.

“Oh yes, thank you Mistress,” he managed before being completely engulfed in the silky soft and dripping wet petals of her sex. He opened his mouth, slipping his tongue through her folds. He followed her moans, afraid that she would punish him for his lack of expertise, swirling his tongue and lapping at her entrance, sliding it inside as far as he could reach.

“Mmmm, yes,” she moaned, rotating her hips. “I’m happy to know your mouth isn’t completely useless, Rumplestiltskin. Oh, yes, worship your Mistress, my pet.”

He sucked on her clit, wrapping his lips around it and hollowing his cheeks. He flicked at it with his tongue, her juices coating his cheeks and hair. She was sweet perfection, and he felt as though drowning in her wouldn’t be enough for him. He wanted this forever. To be buried between her lucious, golden thighs, breathing her in and worshiping her beauty. She moaned sharply when he took the ring through her clit between his teeth and gave a tug, her fingers tightening in his hair, nails scratching in his scalp. He never wanted to be anywhere else, to be anything else, but hers.

“Yes, my sweet, yes. That’s it!” She reached back with one hand, keeping the other tight in his hair, and worked the plug in her ass, the aquamarine jewel in the base glittering. He sucked and licked at her delicious nub, plucking at the ring and sucking it in, working his mouth as she ground and rotated, sliding the plug back and forth.

He made a little noise of triumph when she clamped her thighs around his head, muscles quivering as she came hard in his mouth. Rumplestiltskin drank down every drop of her delicious nectar, as she rode out her orgasm.

“Fuck, yes! Yes! Suck my clit, my pet, suck it!” She screamed as she trembled, he couldn’t breathe for a few moments and he didn’t even care, not with her sweet honey trickling down his throat. He felt bereft when she finally lifted herself off him, her eyes bright and her lips plump and glossy, parted in and panting, her chest heaving, the glittering chains swaying and dancing.

“Good boy,” she crooned, moving down to stand between his thighs. “Such a good boy. I think you are going to like this next bit.”

“I like everything, Mistress,” he whispered, as she grasped the end of the plug in his ass and slowly worked it out. “Thank you.”

“Such a good slave. Lift your knees like a good whore. I’m going to fuck your cunt, slut.” She pressed his thighs back until he was open for her, his puckered hole winking, she fastened them back with leather straps, and a leather strap around his chest, just above his tortured nipples, to hold him in place. She left his hands free as she pressed the thick golden cock to the entrance of his body. He held his breath, his body tensing against her.

“Relax, my sweet,” she purred. “Relax, and breathe if you want me to fuck you until I let you come.”

“Yes, Mistress! Please fuck me, use me,” he begged, forcing himself to relax. He felt the head pop past the tight ring of muscle, and he let out a shuddering groan as she pressed forward. He felt the drip of oil as she added a generous amount to keep things moving.

“That’s a good little slag. Yes, open up for me, so I can use your hole.” She thrust firmly, working in until her hips were flush with his ass. His whole body was shaking, his thighs trembling. He’d never felt so complete in his whole life. His beautiful Mistress, buried to the hilt in his worthless arse. “Are you ready, love?”

“Yes, Mistress!” His voice a desperate whine. “Please, fuck me. My holes are yours forever. Please fuck me.”

He howled when she began to move, excruciatingly slowly. She pulled out, and he could feel the emptiness that threatened to overcome him. She pressed in again, until she was buried deep, filling him, completing him. He moved his hips to meet her when she began to thrust in earnest. His body was opening, welcoming her every thrust, until soon she was snapping her hips, and he was crying out, the thick length of her golden cock slipping in and out with ease.

Belle smiled when he pulled his knees back even further, allowing her to thrust deeper, grinding against his ass with every brutal thrust. He threw his head back, his muscles straining and his cock surging against his belly.

“Please, Mistress, may I come?” he begged.

“Not yet!” She snapped, withdrawing and leaving him empty. Belle gripped his cock, unclasping the sound, and drawing it out slowly, each bead popping out and making him shudder and whimper. He felt the head of her cock breach his entrance again, and she started slow, fucking his cock with the sound and his arse at the same time. His eyes rolled back and a feral groan was torn from his throat. Sweat beaded on his forehead and lip, rolling down in rivulets.

“Mistress, please!”

“Please, what?”

“Please fuck me, use me! Please let me come. Please, I’m going mad!” He whined. He thought he might go mad anyway. His body had never known such pleasure, such utter bliss.

“Fuck your cock. I want to watch you fuck it while I use your arsehole.” Belle slid all the way out and back in, the squelching wetness allowing her to hilt herself in one brutal thrust. He keened. Thrashing about for a moment. “Fuck your cock with the sound, whore.”

He made a strangled sound in his throat, gripping his cock with one hand and the sound with the other. He began to move it in and out, keeping pace with Belle as she reamed his arse. Soon they were building a rhythm, fast and hard. He gripped tight, sliding the entire length of the sound with every thrust until he was crying out, his body shaking from head to toe. He was straining to hold back his orgasm. His body flailing while Belle slammed into him again and again.

If it weren’t for Bae, he could have died in that moment. More bliss than his body could bear for another moment was coursing through him. Lights and stars were bursting behind his eyes, impaled upon the cock of his most magnanimous Mistress, her whore forever. He was crying out and moaning with every thrust into his used body, sobbing as the sound worked deeper. His mind so full, he almost missed the moment...

“Come for me, my sweet Spinner. Come now!” Belle thrust deeply and his eyes flew open, meeting hers and locking there, unable and unwilling to look away, come what may. She gripped his hips and held on tight as he bucked and moaned, his body arching off the table. He pulled out the sound, thick, white come spurting in hot gobs all over his chest and belly. A guttural, feral groan escaped him as he writhed and pulsed, the come slowing and finally stopping, dripping down his cock. Belle smiled, still buried in his ass, his muscles clenching around her, and bent down to suck the length of his cock between her lips. He threw his head back and yowled, as she sucked the come from his softening cock with a loud slurp.

“Thank you, Mistress,” he sobbed as she slipped out of him. He smelled the ozone tang of magic as she conjured a gigantic lounge in the midst of the dungeon, lifting him and leading him to it. His body was weak, used and trembling, but she bolstered him, encouraging him to stand while she removed the nipple clamps and cages, yelping with the intensity of the pain as the blood flowed back into pinched tissue.

“Shhh, pet.” She admonished, laying a gentle kiss over each one. She gathered his seed from his chest, and lifting it to her mouth, sucked it down while he watched. She made a small noise of pleasure in her throat, bending down to lick it from him, cleaning his chest thoroughly. His mind was spinning. He wasn’t ready for this to be over. His thoughts racing even as she conjured a bucket of warm water and a giant sponge.

His Mistress, the Dark One, Legend, sponged him from head to toe. Washing away the sweat and stickiness and soothing his worn muscles. She dried him with a fluffy towel and laid him down on the lounge, tucking him against her body and holding him tight.

“Such a good boy. You did so well, love.” Belle stroked his hair, scratching her nails against his scalp, and even pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Rumplestiltskin relaxed against her, absorbing her warmth and grateful for her gentle care. “So much better than I expected. Better than I hoped.”

He made a contented noise, burying his nose in the side of her breast, the skin soft and fragrant and lightly scaled, reminding him who it was he cuddled with.

“You’ve paid my price for your son’s life, Spinner.”

“Yes, Mistress.” He felt a rising panic in his chest. She would set him free and leave him bereft. “Thank you, Mistress.”

“If I let you go, you will no longer be my slave.” She ran a taloned finger down his cheek, her strange eyes almost sad. “And I will no longer be your Mistress.”

He lifted himself on one elbow, daring to take her hand and place it on the rings that hung heavy from his balls. “I am yours always, Mistress.”

She stroked him, playing with the rings gently, and smiled. “Yes.” He bent down and kissed her lips, fearing punishment for his bold actions, but she only reached up to tangle her fingers in his hair and draw him closer. She parted her lips, and he delved in with his tongue, stroking and swirling as he had with her cunt. She was pure magic and he was hooked.

Belle pulled away, her eyes dark and clouded. She stood and conjured herself a golden robe that flowed over her curves like water at sunset. She helped him rise, and conjured him clothing fit for a prince. Rumplestiltskin stood before her, eyes downcast. He didn’t want to leave her, as anxious as he was to return to his boy.

“This is too grand for the likes of me,” he protested, gesturing to himself.

“Nonsense,” she countered, fussing with his collar and brushing away an imaginary speck of dust. “You are the Dark One’s consort. It’s only fitting.”

“I am?”

“Well...” She bit her lip, and if it weren’t for her strange eyes and the golden scales of her skin, she could almost be any woman, sending her beloved off to market or a day of work.

“You stopped the first Ogre’s War?” Rumplestiltskin asked, breathless with revelation, “to save your family?”

“I did,” she answered, the confusion evident in the sweet furrow between her brows.

“How?”

“I drove them off, made them disappear into another realm. One where they wouldn’t harm us.” She shrugged. “Apparently I missed a few.”

Rumplestiltskin sank to his knees before her. She gazed down at him, puzzled. “Then you could save us all, for a price?”

“What price?”

“Me.”

Belle smiled, that wicked gleam returning to her eyes. “There is much yet I desire to do to you, Spinner.”

He shuddered and nodded, taking her hand and watching her with wide eyes. “Send me back to my son, and I will return to you once a fortnight for two days. Use me as you will. I am utterly and completely yours. Drive away the Ogres and free this land. That is all I ask.”

“Not even for comfort for you and your son?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“I leave that choice in your hands. I ask only that the Enchanted Forest and surrounding lands be made free of the Ogres. For that price, I am yours.” Her eyes shone down on him, and hope burst in his chest, and something warm and soft that he couldn’t exactly put a name to when she spoke only one word before sending him back to his son in a swirl of purple-black smoke. It echoed in his mind as Baelfire leapt into his arms, shouting for joy…

“Deal.”

 

   

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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